


A Spectacle of Himself

by susannah_wilde



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cliche, Community: hd_cliche, Glasses, M/M, Major Character Injury, Potions Accident, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susannah_wilde/pseuds/susannah_wilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A potions accident leaves Draco with new scars, the need of glasses, and more importantly, the unease of having his life changed suddenly. Thankfully, Harry has a way of helping him deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Spectacle of Himself

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** A Spectacle of Himself  
>  **Author:** [](http://susannah-wilde.livejournal.com/profile)[**susannah_wilde**](http://susannah-wilde.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Cliche:** injury, potions accident  
>  **Pairing:** Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy  
>  **Rating:** R  
>  **Word Count:** ~ 2k words  
>  **Warnings:** experimental writing style and sappy romance/fluff, but it’s a cliché fest :) Oh, and there might be spelling errors, because after a while, every word looked funny, even if it was the correct spelling.  
>  **Author’s Notes:** I saw  and  , which lead to learning about [typoglycemia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Typoglycemia). Also, if reading the first version is difficult, then the second chapter is written in the proper order. Many thanks to my beta, A, who was a tremendous help, and any mistakes are my own. Written for H/D cliche fest 2014.  
> 

“Darco, it’s not the wrsot tihng in the wrold.” Ptoter treis to be rasesuirng, but the inetntoin is lsot wehn he’s too peorcuciepd wtih dyrnig hmislef atfer septpnig out of the sowher.

I socwl. “Taht’s esay for you to say, Ptoter. It deons’t mttaer if _you_ look lkie a secpky git snice yuv’oe olny been warenig tehse hdioeus tihngs froveer.” I trun my bcak to the mrrior and try to be anoneyd, but it’s hrad wehn eeyvtihng is a bulr. Ltierllay, all I can see in fornt of me is a mses of balck hiar and tohse geern eeys taht I _konw_ sohw a hnit of ausemmnet at my msifrotnue.

“Hey! Mghit I rmenid you taht tihs ‘secpky git’ is yuor hsubnad.”

I corss my amss and my galses dnagle form my fnigretpis. “Seieng how I’m parcticlaly bilnd bcaeuse of you, smoetmies I wnoder if I’ve mdae the rgiht cohice.” His satg Ptaornus had sartlted me in my pirvtae lab at Hgowrtas, rgiht at the curical mmoent wehre I was adidng pwodreed root of apshdoel to a ptoion, cuasing a sepctcalar raeciton. Isntaed of a pirvtae botoh at a Praiisan rsetuarnt to clebertae an aninvresray, I had a pirvtae room at St Mnugo’s, cmopelte wtih Haleers tyring to slavgae my eeysghit.

In the end, I tahnked my lcuky satrs taht I cuold sitll see. Taht was the msot ipmortnat tihng. On smoe dyas, hwoveer, it’s sitll hrad to look at the lfet sdie of my fcae wtihuot felening agner or regert.

Wtih the way Ptoter persess his lpis tgoteher in a tihn lnie at the mmeory, I konw I’ve corssed the lnie and he feles giutly. As do I, epseically snice I bruoght it up out of sipte. No mtater how mnay tmies I rmeind him taht it was an acicdnet, he sitll tkaes the balme. In mmonets lkie tehse, it’s bteter to perss on and cahnge the tpoic, and I do so by syanig, “I look rdiicoulus--“

“I fnid taht hrad to bleivee, seieng as you sepnd an ugnodly aomunt of tmie in the bahtroom eevry mronnig,” he itnerurpts, and piotns to all the bttoles taht are cultteerd aorund the snik. I rsesit the ugre to sahke my haed, but cna’t dney the turth. It tkaes tmie to look prefcet, to hdie the red sacrs wtih Mgugle csomteics, snice ptoinos and galmuors dno’t wrok.

But try tlelnig taht to Ptoter, who ptus on coltehs taht are cealn and jsut rnus a cmob trhuogh his hiar ecah mronnig. So I keep slinet and wtach as Ptoter bursehs his teteh and dno’t udnersatnd why he isnitss on diong tihngs the Mgugle way. He syas taht tihs way is betetr beuacse it kpees his tteeh clenaer, but I dsiagere. Slepls are mcuh mroe efefctvie, but whveneer I use a slepl to tkae aawy my moinrng bearth so I can ksis hmi, he selims and cllas it lasenizs.

“You look lkie the smae as the posren I flel in lvoe wtih.”

I try to beeilve taht and one day it wlil be teur.

“All rgiht,” I cnocede, “mbyae not ridolucius, but the rosaen I dno’t wnat to waer tehm is taht the glssaes are awawkrd and stgnare, and I get tebirrle hehcadaes erevy tmie I put tehm on.”

He and I btoh konw taht it’s not the gsseals, but tihs minnrog I’m hipnog he geos aolng wtih the lie.

Ptoter rnises his mutoh one lsat tmie, wnipig his fcae wtih a teowl beorfe tnunrig to fcae me. He saters tghohulfulty at my etinre fcae, not jsut on my lfet sdie, and at ocne I feel uensay as if I am arifad of waht he tnkihs. Wihch is rdiuouclis bsacuee I mrriaed him, for Mrelin’s skae. We hvae lnog scnie stteled waht clhidish asminitoy we had tarwods ecah oehtr. Hewevor, Ptoter has taht unancny albiity to mkae a porsen ehiter feel impornatt or a scpek of dsut wtih jsut one gancle.

Dpors of wtaer lnad on my sikn wehn he skahes his haed and syas, “The hcadeahes wlil go aawy as soon as you get uesd to werinag gassles, if I rmeember croretcly. Hree, let me try seohmting.” He gbras me by the sduhelor and trnus me aonurd so taht it’s the two of us rlfecteed in the morrir. In dnoig so, the gaeslss silp form my hnad and I ecxpet to haer tehm cltater to the folor, but Ptoter garbs tehm wtih tsohe Seeekr rflxeees he sitll has yreas atfer Hgrtawos.

Ptoter’s clsoe engouh for me to feel the wrmath radiantig off his sikn and to sleml the hnit of cutris form the saop he uess. Wehn he sekpas, his btearh meaks me sihver. “Clsoe yuor eeys,” he wehspirs and I fworn, but in the yares we’ve been tgetoehr, he’s nveer dnoe mroe tahn waht I’m wnlliig to repoircacte.

My hartebaet sedpes up at the iamdemite lsos of sghit, but wtih a wlel-cohsen sepll, a wvae of celmnsas sttlees dwon oevr me. I feel the clod matel of the galsess’ fearms stlete on the bdrige of my nsoe and bihend my eerlabos as Ptoter audjtss tehm.

I msut rebememr to pclae a stkciing crahm so taht tehy can’t sidle off. Out of all the anadvecs of mgciaal haeilng and trehe slitl isn’t a way to fix egyiesht. To be hsoent, if I wsan’t so saercd of the detiscrpion, I wuold hvae tired one of the Mgglue leasr eye pcrederuos taht I keep hreinag Gragner sepak to Ptoter aoubt.

“All rghit, is tihs bteter?” Ptoter akss and I oepn my eeys, but don’t look straight at my reflection. Instead, I gaze out the small bathroom window at the sunrise that’s starting to come up, with the streaks of red and gold against the dark sky. The view is sharp, almost too focused, but no signs of a headache make an appearance. I nod.

“Good,” Potter says, “see, it’s not all bad. Besides, you don’t look like a specky git. I think you look sophisticated.” Potter wraps his arms around me, adding, “and sexy.”

I stare straight into the mirror and snort, wondering if Potter has suddenly gone blind. While he still has the circular frames from childhood that he refuses to part with, I’ve chosen something different. The glasses are thin, deep-blue rectangular frames made of titanium that bend and twist without fear of being broken, even when flying. The last thing I need is to have shards of glass embedded in my eyes.

“Are you willing to say that to Weasley?”

“Sure I will. I can’t deny the truth. You are sexy,” he murmurs as he bites my shoulder and soothes it over with his tongue. “I fucking love you in glasses.”

“Is that right?” I say, finally turning around and even though I have just woken up and have not even showered, I lean forward and kiss him. The kiss is awkward, the closeness leaving me cross-eyed and all too late I don’t even think about closing my eyes. I’m too focused on the stubble that scratches my chin, the minty breath as he makes the kiss deeper, and the clinking sound as our glasses hit. His fingers brush against my jaw, lightly tracing the scars that have extended down my cheek. When we pull away, breathless, the lenses are smudged so much from being pressed against skin that it’s still blurry.

“Does that answer your question?” Potter asks as he reaches forward and adjusts them again, grinning like an idiot all the while. His pupils are blown wide and it takes me a while to realise that in that odd mind of his, he’s telling the truth. Despite the scars that cover half my face, he still sees me as desirable.

I only nod and don’t have a chance to question him further, because he’s too impatient in getting my pyjama shirt off, tearing the silk and buttons so that there’s more and more unmarred skin exposed. A sharp twist of pain lets me know that Potter has pulled on my nipples, fingers trailing down my pale chest and abdomen until they reach my trousers and he’s quickly working his way to opening them.

“You know, Draco,” he says, reaching inside and I hiss when he wraps his hand around my cock, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, ever since you got the glasses, to take you to Hogwarts and--.”

I start to lose focus as Potter begins using precome to stroke and tease me to hardness. A scrape of his fingernail against the tender skin jolts me by surprise and I moan at the mixture of pleasure and pain. For once, I don’t care that the small space of the bathroom lets every moan and gasp echo around us, and the sound of skin on skin oddly comforts me.

When Potter takes his hand away, I manage to gasp out, “I never figured that you’d have enough imagination to have the sexy professor fantasy, Potter. Is there something you need to tell me?”

Potter smiles and there’s mischief in his eyes. “There’s only one person I hated more than you at Hogwarts. Perhaps unresolved sexual tension played a part.”

“Severus?” I have no time to be indignant of that response because Potter goes down to his knees and pulls my pyjama bottoms and pants to the floor. One hand reaches down to fondle my balls, the other hand to keep my cock steady as he traces his lips with it before gently sucking on the head. I have to grab onto the edge of the bathroom sink, as Potter works his wicked tongue on me and swallows me whole.

There’s a ticklish feeling that almost sends me off-balance when Potter reaches behind me to use one of his fingers to trace my rim before going in knuckle deep. I cry out at the intrusion, clenching at the finger and at the same time I want more. I want Potter’s cock inside me and nothing else. When I hear a clatter on the floor, I look down to see Potter’s earnest green eyes gaze at me in wonder.

Looking at Potter without his glasses exposes a vulnerability that I cannot remember seeing recently. Even if he’s still guilty about the accident, and I don’t think there will ever be a time that he will forgive himself, I’m just grateful that he chose me. He hums as I cry out and I just keep on thrusting inside his mouth, hitting him on the same spot in the back of his throat. His hands on my hips keeps me steady as I fuck his mouth harder.

As I let go, my glasses fall off.

Wehn I flinlay clam dwon form my hgih, Ptoter is trhee carsesnig my sikn as my thgihs trmelbe utnil I’m flinlay albe to santd on my own. He sndtas and bushers my hiar out of my fcae and gveis me a ksis, qtiue ctashe atefr waht we’ve dnoe, but I’m hinavg nnoe of taht. I pesrs hraedr uintl I feel his muoth oepn and I can tstae melysf on him.

He silmes, crseaes fmnroig in the cenorrs of his muoth and anourd his eeys, and he tlels me how mcuh he levos me as he lades me itno the swheor saltl to hvae aeohtnr go.

Prehpas I dno’t mnid, warenig galses atfer all.


	2. A Spectacle of Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A potions accident leaves Draco with new scars, the need of glasses, and more importantly, the unease of having his life changed suddenly. Thankfully, Harry has a way of helping him deal.

“Draco, it’s not the worst thing in the world.” Potter tries to be reassuring, but the intention is lost when he’s too preoccupied with drying himself after stepping out of the shower.

I scowl. “That’s easy for you to say, Potter. It doesn’t matter if _you_ look like a specky git since you’ve only been wearing these hideous things forever.” I turn my back to the mirror and try to be annoyed, but it’s hard when everything is a blur. Literally, all I can see in front of me is a mess of black hair and those green eyes that I _know_ show a hint of amusement at my misfortune.

“Hey! Might I remind you that this ‘specky git’ is your husband.”

I cross my arms and my glasses dangle from my fingertips. “Seeing how I’m practically blind because of you, sometimes I wonder if I’ve made the right choice.” His stag Patronus had startled me in my private lab at Hogwarts, right at the crucial moment where I was adding powdered root of asphodel to a potion, causing a spectacular reaction. Instead of a private booth at a Parisian restaurant to celebrate an anniversary, I had a private room at St Mungo’s, complete with Healers trying to salvage my eyesight.

In the end, I thanked my lucky stars that I could still see. That was the most important thing. On some days, however, it’s still hard to look at the left side of my face without feeling anger or regret.

With the way Potter presses his lips together in a thin line at the memory, I know I’ve crossed the line and he feels guilty. As do I, especially since I brought it up out of spite. No matter how many times I remind him that it was an accident, he still takes the blame. In moments like these, it’s better to press on and change the topic, and I do so by saying, “I look ridiculous-“

“I find that hard to believe, seeing as you spend an ungodly amount of time in the bathroom every morning,” he interrupts, and points to all the bottles that are cluttered around the sink. I resist the urge to shake my head, but can’t deny the truth. It takes time to look perfect, to hide the red scars with Muggle cosmetics, since potions and glamours don’t work.

But try telling that to Potter, who puts on clothes that are clean and just runs a comb through his hair each morning. So I keep silent and watch as Potter brushes his teeth and don’t understand why he insists on doing things the Muggle way. He says that this way is better because it keeps his teeth cleaner, but I disagree. Spells are much more effective, but whenever I use a spell to take away my morning breath so I can kiss him, he smiles and calls it laziness.

“You look the same as the person I fell in love with.”

I try to believe that and one day it will be true.

“All right,” I concede, “maybe not ridiculous, but the reason I don’t want to wear them is that the glasses are awkward and strange, and I get terrible headaches every time I put them on.”

He and I both know that it’s not the glasses, but this morning I’m hoping he goes along with the lie.

Potter rinses his mouth one last time, wiping his face with a towel before turning to face me. He stares thoughtfully at my entire face, not just on my left side, and at once I feel uneasy as if I am afraid of what he thinks. Which is ridiculous because I married him, for Merlin’s sake. We have long since settled what childish animosity we had towards each other. However, Potter has that uncanny ability to make a person either feel important or a speck of dust with just one glance.

Drops of water land on my skin when he shakes his head and says, “The headaches will go away as soon as you get used to wearing glasses, if I remember correctly. Here, let me try something.” He grabs me by the shoulder and turns me around so that it’s the two of us reflected in the mirror. In doing so, the glasses slip from my hand and I expect to hear them clatter to the floor, but Potter grabs them with those Seeker reflexes he still has years after Hogwarts.

Potter’s close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating off his skin and to smell the hint of citrus from the soap he uses. When he speaks, his breath makes me shiver. “Close your eyes,” he whispers and I frown, but in the years we’ve been together, he’s never done more than what I’m willing to reciprocate.

My heartbeat speeds up at the immediate loss of sight, but with a well-chosen spell, a wave of calmness settles down over me. I feel the cold metal of the glasses’ frames settle on the bridge of my nose and behind my earlobes as Potter adjusts them.

I must remember to place a sticking charm so that they can’t slide off. Out of all the advances of magical healing and there still isn’t a way to fix eyesight. To be honest, if I wasn’t so scared of the description, I would have tried one of the Muggle laser eye procedures that I keep hearing Granger speak to Potter about.

“All right, is this better?” Potter asks and I open my eyes, but don’t look straight at my reflection. Instead, I gaze out the small bathroom window at the sunrise at the sunrise that’s starting to come up, with the streaks of red and gold against the dark sky. The view is sharp, almost too focused, but no signs of a headache make an appearance. I nod.

“Good,” Potter says, “see, it’s not all bad. Besides, you don’t look like a specky git. I think you look sophisticated.” Potter wraps his arms around me, adding, “and sexy.”

I stare straight into the mirror and snort, wondering if Potter has suddenly gone blind. While he still has the circular frames from childhood that he refuses to part with, I’ve chosen something different. The glasses are thin, deep-blue rectangular frames made of titanium that bend and twist without fear of being broken, even when flying. The last thing I need is to have shards of glass embedded in my eyes.

“Are you willing to say that to Weasley?”

“Sure I will. I can’t deny the truth. You are sexy,” he murmurs as he bites my shoulder and soothes it over with his tongue. “I fucking love you in glasses.”

“Is that right?” I say, finally turning around and even though I have just woken up and have not even showered, I lean forward and kiss him. The kiss is awkward, the closeness leaving me cross-eyed and all too late I don’t even think about closing my eyes. I’m too focused on the stubble that scratches my chin, the minty breath as he makes the kiss deeper, and the clinking sound as our glasses hit. His fingers brush against my jaw, lightly tracing the scars that have extended down my cheek. When we pull away, breathless, the lenses are smudged so much from being pressed against skin that it’s still blurry.

“Does that answer your question?” Potter asks as he reaches forward and adjusts them again, grinning like an idiot all the while. His pupils are blown wide and it takes me a while to realize that in that odd mind of his, he’s telling the truth. Despite the scars that cover half my face, he still sees me as desirable.

I only nod and don’t have a chance to question him further, because he’s too impatient in getting my pyjama shirt off, tearing the silk and buttons so that there’s more and more unmarred skin exposed. A sharp twist of pain lets me know that Potter has pulled on my nipples, fingers trailing down my pale chest and abdomen until they reach my trousers and he’s quickly working his way to opening them.

“You know, Draco,” he says, reaching inside and I hiss when he wraps his hand around my cock, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, ever since you got the glasses, to take you to Hogwarts and--.”

I start to lose focus as Potter begins using precome to stroke and tease me to hardness. A scrape of his fingernail against the tender skin jolts me by surprise and I moan at the mixture of pleasure and pain. For once, I don’t care that the small space of the bathroom lets every moan and gasp echo around us, and the sound of skin on skin oddly comforts me.

When Potter takes his hand away, I manage to gasp out, “I never figured that you’d have enough imagination to have the sexy professor fantasy, Potter. Is there something you need to tell me?”

Potter smiles and there’s mischief in his eyes. “There’s only one person I hated more than you at Hogwarts. Perhaps unresolved sexual tension played a part.”

“Severus?” I have no time to be indignant of that response because Potter goes down to his knees and pulls my pyjama bottoms and pants to the floor. One hand reaches down to fondle my balls, the other hand to keep my cock steady as he traces his lips with my shaft before gently sucking on the head. I have to grab onto the edge of the bathroom sink, as Potter works his wicked tongue on me and swallows me whole.

There’s a ticklish feeling that almost sends me off-balance when Potter reaches behind me to use one of his fingers to trace my rim before going in knuckle deep. I cry out at the intrusion, clenching at the finger and at the same time I want more. I want Potter’s cock inside me and nothing else. When I hear a clatter on the floor, I look down at him to see Potter’s earnest green eyes gaze at me in wonder.

Looking at Potter without his glasses exposes a vulnerability that I cannot remember seeing recently. Even if he’s still guilty about the accident, I’m just grateful that he chose me. He hums as I cry out and I just keep on thrusting inside his mouth, hitting him on the same spot in the back of his throat. His hands on my hips keeps me steady as I fuck his mouth harder.

As I let go, my glasses fall off.

When I finally calm down from my high, Potter is there caressing my skin as my thighs tremble until I’m finally able to stand on my own. He stands and brushes my hair out of my face and gives me a kiss, quite chaste after what we’ve done, but I’m having none of that. I press harder until I feel his mouth open and I can taste myself on him.

He smiles, creases forming in the corners of his mouth and around his eyes, and he tells me how much he loves me as he leads me into the shower stall to have another go.

Perhaps I don’t mind wearing glasses after all.


End file.
